Sick Or Sane
by Awesome Sauce in a Bucket
Summary: While the fellow prisoners... no, "patients" around him cry out in agony of their own lesser demons, B just smiles. Beyond Birthday's life in a mental institution, following the LABB Murder Cases, No pairings.


_This is basically a fic about Beyond Birthday spending some quality time in a mental institution! Yay, right? So yeah, there's no definite, explicit, actual plot here, but I felt the need to write out some BB. Because he is my very favorite-est Death Note character. Who doesn't even appear in the manga/anime, hahaha._

**_-There are no pairings. _**_(Though I can think of a part in the next chapter where, if you reeeaaally wanna see it, there's some slight BxL.)  
_**_-Rating/Warnings: T, for violence and language._**

_This isn't a songfic, but the title is a reference to "Sick or Sane (Fifty For a Twenty)" by Senses Fail. Who I love :) "And the white coats, just don't get it. I'm a genius with a headache. Am I a little sick, or a little sane, am I a little sick or a little sane? Am I a little sick or a little sane, 'cause I feel a little sick..."_

The bright, cheerful sunlight streaming in through the windows at "the facility" were rather ironic. Beyond had always thought of this place as death and despair, death and despair, death and despair. It was delightful. Screams echoed throughout the hallways in the deepest hollows of night... Moans of terror, cries of agony, vainly attempting to hide away from the night creatures that tortured the prisoners from the recesses of their own minds. Had he said "prisoners?" _"Oh dear," _Beyond Birthday thought, stifling a giggle. _"Oh, dear, I meant, patients."_

The fucking BEASTS in the white coats were there to help to _patients_, of course! To feed and bathe and provide, for fuck's sake! Oh yes, it would be terribly ungrateful to confuse a savior with a warden! These were indeed saviors, garbed in white in the image of purity, chaste and vindictive as angels, holding themselves high above their wards. Oh yes, for what else but an angel could make the screaming behind one's eyeballs cease so wondrously? With the blue pills, white pills, round... But the truly fortunate were bestowed with the honor of the needle... Beyond had seen it with his very own eyes: a raving madman, twisted and warped from centuries of unseen imps and demons, fall limp and lucid and oblivious and _dead_ and complacent and for once so very happy! Under the duress of an angel's needle. Oh yes, the beautiful needle had made him happy, hadn't it? He had been writhing and twisting and screaming, and then fell so very silent, and laid just like a doll, limp, with a fool's grin and a small trail of saliva dribbling down his chin as the angels lifted him on high to his piss-stained, vomit-stained, death-stained bed. But the needle had made him happy.

The needle had taken his pain.

The needle had granted him oblivion.

The needle had made him happy?

No, the needle had not...

The needle _had not. _

It _had _NOT.

THE _fucking needle _KILLED HIM! HIS HEART BEAT FILTHY BLOOD, AND HIS LUNGS STOLE FILTHY AIR BUT THE NEEDLE HAD FUCKING KILLED HIM. Beyond's heartbeat had sped up rapidly in disgust of the immaculate creatures who felt they had the right to steal their children's souls via slender metal and push-and-pull and pungeant remedies _and his fists clenched and unclenched in growing rage, and his breath grew harsher, and just as he was about to snap -_he calmed.

An unsettling calmness overtook B. _"How selfless," _Beyond had noted to himself with an innocent smile, _"it is for these angels to grant such bliss to the wretches of this plane of existence. Perhaps they wish for nirvana as well, hm? Oh, then I shall grant it to them..."_ His eyes grew wide, and without warning, he jumped from his placid state in the corner and stole away the lovley needle to plunge it into a lovely angel, stabbing, stabbing, stabbing. Stepping back, he laughed aloud (he couldn't help it) as the angel sputtered and coughed and twirled (a beautiful, marvelously graceful dance) before collapsing to the ground, clawing desparately at a divine neck. B returned to his corner and sat with his knees to his chest in habitual manner, with a contented grin, watching the angels flock to their fallen comrade, and the lost souls around him howling in horror at the heresy of the sight before them. Their night-demons would be vehement that night.

But after B's incident with the angel, he was marked "does not play well with others" and was shipped off to his very own personal box with no windows, and padded walls. He had a lovely coat for the first few weeks, but it made his arms cramp something terrible, wrapped tight to his body like that. And the burns had hardly healed... Every time the frightened nurse (accompanied by a stuffy man in a blue suit, never alone, never alone) would scurry in with his meal (what's even in this gray shit?), avoiding eye contact as she hurriedly attempted to feed him the bland, nameless substance that supplied his nutrients, he'd flash her that winning smile,_ (only slightly marred by the scars)_ and with his most innocent puppy eyes _(eyes that saw death clear as day) _he'd ask so charmingly, if perhaps, just once, she might bring him some jam? She didn't. Bitch.

As days progessed, and B played nice, the coat was removed, and some restrictions as well: _"Joy of joys, I can feed my-fucking-self now!" _But, as flavorless as the food was - _(Beyond liked to tell himself that the gray mush was created from the ashes of other patients accidentally killed by careless employees; but to be completey honest, B simpy found this notion more entertaing than spending his time pondering how the FDA let the looney bin get their hands on so __much__ expired chicken noodle soup and stew.) _- Beyond's daily life had become even more flavorless.

After the third c_entury _of nothing but the same white padded walls, three-meals-a-day, and "How are you feeling todays?," Beyond began to fear losing his sanity... what a tragedy _that_ would be._ (Hee-hee.)_A nice break came one day when a large balding, middle-aged man who smelled of grilled cheese came and escorted Beyond from his room to an apparently top-secret site. Or, this is what the escort seemed to imply, anyway.

* * *

*Commence semi-self-degradation:* I like this. Mostly. I like some of the concepts, but I feel like it's too clustered and runs on in all the wrong places. It gets confusing where I couldn't find an adequate way to split sentences. Please forgive me for that. Plus I'm tired and probably missed a lot of grammatical and spelling errors. OTL

_ Oh, and this probably could have been a one-shot, but I get ridiculously side-tracked when writing, so this has strayed far off the path of what I intended to write and has become much longer without even including my original idea in the first place. This is how I always write... and draw... haha. (In other words, I messed around and am now too lazy to finish this story right now, so I shall save the rest for another chapter.)_

__Speaking of which, here's a preview x3 :

"Ah! Good day my dear friend, a good day indeed. May I enquire as to where I am currently being conducted?"

B's arm was wrenched at an awkward angle as the man half-dragged him to the undisclosed location. The man did not reply to Beyond's question. B then attempted to make polite conversation.

"Oh, and I must add, that spot of dried ketchup crusted to your chin really makes you look rather distinguished."

Any attempts to produce a reply went unrewarded as B was finally slung into a cement room with with a single nailed-to-the-floor chair and a plexiglass partition separating the other half of the room. _Just like a Hollywood crime movie... _Beyond snickered.

_(And fyi, this is probably going to change some by the time I post the next chapter, because I didn't take the time to read over or edit that snippet at ALL x] )_


End file.
